


Hearts for a Consulting Detective

by freeshipping



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward, Awkward First Time, Bottom Sherlock, Cuddling, Cute, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Holiday, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, Love, M/M, Porn, Porn With Plot, Romance, Sherlock Is a Virgin, Slash, Smut, Themed, Top John, V-Day, Valentine's Day, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freeshipping/pseuds/freeshipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John just wants to go on a date with a nice girl for Valentine's Day, but Sherlock has other plans. Plans that most decidedly involve John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts for a Consulting Detective

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most detailed smut I've written, but I decided to make it cute and romantic too because Valentine's Day.

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, I really don’t mind.” John stormed angrily through the grocery store aisle, tossing things in his shopping cart with little regard for the labels or prices. He was in a hurry to get out of the crowded mart, and the tall detective behind him wasn’t making things any easier.

“Your body language would suggest otherwise,” Sherlock retorted, “Besides, John, I know you mind. You’d rather be going out with a girl tomorrow night, seeing as it is Valentine’s Day, a holiday reserved for celebrating romantic love and attachment. Although I can’t see how going on a date with a woman you’ve barely met can be considered a celebration of love. Do you really fall in love so quickly, John? Or would it be a meager attempt to forestall your inevitable loneliness by distracting yourself with pleasantries and sexual intercourse that you might pretend to care about?”

“I am going to kill him,” John muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing,” John replied cheerily, “Nothing important.” It was important, though. He had been planning to ask out a very nice girl from across the street out for tomorrow evening. He knew for a fact that she didn’t have plans, because Mrs. Hudson was friends with her landlady and she had apparently overheard the girl crying over her cancelled plans, reportedly with a man that she hadn’t known very well, but “he seemed quite sweet and I just don’t want to be alone, you know?”

“We have to work on this case, John,” Sherlock continued, “It is imperative that we work on this tomorrow night, or we may never get another chance.”

“I don’t care.”

“Except, of course, you do care. You care very much, I can tell. Here, do we need these?” Sherlock tossed a box of tissues to John, who was surprised by how perceptive Sherlock had been to notice that they were out of tissues. Since when had he taken any interest in what Sherlock deemed “domestic affairs”?

“Sherlock, will you just shut up and help me with the groceries?”

~ * ~

Valentine’s Day dawned with the sound of violin music drifting in from the living room. Sherlock was playing “Unchained Melody,” singing along in his deep bass voice. John groaned half-heartedly at the irony of the situation: Sherlock playing one of the most famous love songs ever written on a day reserved for romantic love… and John was stuck inside with the world’s only consulting detective.

_“Oh my love,_   
_Oh my darling,_   
_I’ve hungered for your touch_   
_A long and lonely time._

_And time goes by so slowly,_   
_and time can do so much._   
_Are you still mine?”_

“Tea?” John set the steaming mug of tea beside Sherlock, who ignored him dutifully and continued with his art. John rolled his eyes. Typical.

_“I need your love,_   
_I need your love,_   
_I need your love._   
_Godspeed your love to me.”_

John flipped open the morning paper, trying to ignore the tune. It was odd to hear such affectionate lyrics coming from the mouth of a man who was usually so detached from others. It was ever odder for John to find himself humming along. There was something strangely calming about Sherlock’s deep voice, and it made John drowsy listening to it.

_“Lonely lovers fall to the sea, to the sea,_   
_To the open arms of the sea._   
_Lonely lovers sigh, wait for me, wait for me,_   
_I’ll be coming home, wait for me.”_

“Sherlock,” John yawned, having finished his tea. “When are we going to start working on that case?”

Sherlock stopped playing, setting down the instrument and springing to his feet. He alighted on the floor soundlessly and practically _bounced_ to the kitchen, his bathrobe trailing behind him. “Do we have any food?” he called back, rather than answering John’s question.

“Um… yes,” John replied, “We just went shopping yesterday, remember?”

“Let’s go out.” Sherlock had appeared in the doorway fully dressed in a suit and coat. John was stunned by Sherlock’s quick change in attire, but made no comment.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” he asked.

“We have things to do, John!” Sherlock exclaimed, knotting a blue scarf around his neck, “Food to eat! People to see! It’s Valentine’s Day!”

John sighed. It was rare to see Sherlock get this excited and although John couldn’t guess at why, he had learned that it was better not to question the man.

~ * ~

“So are you going to tell me anything about this case?”

“Hmm.” Sherlock chewed thoughtfully. “You know, I really hadn’t intended on us having two of the same thing.” John had ordered a yogurt with berries and granola for breakfast, deciding to be healthy for once, and Sherlock had instantly told the waitress that “whatever John’s having is good enough for me,” so their breakfasts had ended up being identical.

John frowned. “What were you expecting?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I just thought we could share.”

John almost choked on his granola. “Sh-share? Ha, no. Sherlock, I don’t share food, especially not with--” He stopped, realizing how tactless he sounded, but the damage was done.

“Especially not with… with me, John? Your best friend?”

John sighed and set down his spoon. “Sherlock, that’s not what I meant. I just meant… it’s a little weird to share food with other people, especially since we’re both completely self-sufficient adult men.”

“Why? I’ve seen you share food with your girlfriends. Lots of people do it.”

“Yes, well, but, Sherlock, dating someone is different. You can behave differently around a boyfriend or girlfriend than around other people, even your best friend.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” Sherlock cast his eyes down at the table. “I’m finished, let’s leave.”

“But I’m not--”

Sherlock swept out the door to the diner without further ado, leaving a grumbling John Watson to pay the bill.

~ * ~

“A walk, John. That’s what people do on sunny days.” They were strolling along the sidewalk, peering in shop windows and chatting amiably about mundane things such as sports and the weather. John had never been so confused about a person’s behavior as he had been for the past couple hours.

“Well, yes,” John replied as they stepped onto a bridge overlooking the Thames. “I’m not complaining, it’s just that I thought we were going to be working on the case today.”

Sherlock stopped and leaned against the railing, peering into the darkened water below. His hair was curly and tousled from the light breeze, and it looked so soft that John had a sudden urge to run his fingers through it. Instead, he stopped a comfortable distance from the tall detective and leaned his back against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting against the harsh spring sunlight.

“We are working on the case, John.”

John gave Sherlock a startled look. “E-excuse me? What? What case?”

“Me, John. I’m the case.”

John was too stunned to respond.

“I want… I want to be normal, John. That’s what I’m trying to do, I’m trying to be normal. This is what normal people do, right? They… eat breakfast with their best friend and go for walks in the sunshine. Do you know, do have any idea how hard it is for me? People look at me like I’m a freak, or a god, or an alien. Most of the time I like being different -- I like the attention. But now?” He buried his face in his hands, continuing to speak in a muffled tone. “I want something normal, John.”

John was silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say. He had never seen Sherlock show this sort of vulnerability before and he wasn’t sure if he should try to comfort the consulting detective or not. Finally, he said the only thing he could think of to say: “Why now? You said, yesterday, that it had to be today. Why?”

Sherlock kept his face in his hands, refusing to meet John’s stony gaze. “It’s Valentine’s Day, John,” he answered in a tone so soft that John had to lean in to catch his words. “There’s love everywhere, couples. Sex. How do you think that makes me feel, when I have never--” He stopped speaking abruptly, and John could see the skin on his cheekbones growing pink around his hands. Was Sherlock… blushing? This was a new one.

“Sherlock.” John swallowed nervously. Was he about to have The Talk with a fully grown man? “Are you telling me you’ve never had sex?”

Sherlock straightened up, his face still bright red, and fixed his scarf nervously, still refusing to meet John’s eyes. “Sexual intercourse, yes John. That is exactly what I’m saying. Truthfully, I’ve never shared romantic or sexual affection with another human being in my life.” He was talking rapidly under his breath, obviously immensely embarrassed but trying to show it. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.. share that with anyone.”

John gave a choked laugh. “Sherlock, I wouldn’t. You know that. After all, I’m your best friend.” He could see Sherlock’s gray eyes getting damp, his gaze still directed at the river below, and John felt his heart ache at the sight of his friend’s hurt. _“Sherlock,”_  he whispered.

“You can go on your date now, John,” Sherlock muttered. It wasn’t what John had been expecting to hear. “It was selfish of me to take you away today, but I just--”

“You didn’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day,” John finished. “I get it, Sherlock, it’s okay.” Almost subconsciously, he reached out and put his hand over Sherlock’s, moving so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. “I’m not going to leave,” he reassured the detective.

Sherlock finally looked up and met John’s gaze. He looked like a kicked puppy, and John reached out before he could help himself and pulled the taller man into a tight hug. He felt Sherlock’s arms close around him, his hands pressing into John’s lower back. John clutched Sherlock’s shoulders, one hand running through Sherlock’s messy hair as he had been aching to do. “It’s okay,” he murmured in Sherlock’s ear, “You’re not a freak, Sherlock. You’re not weird. You’re just a man who has been neglected and rejected and-- God, Sherlock, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to be alone tonight. I’ll stay with you, I promise.”

“Promise?” Sherlock’s voice broke on the word, and John held him tighter, hoping to quell the man’s shaking breaths.

“Promise.”

~ * ~

It was around six in the evening when they got back to apartment 221b. Sherlock had insisted on holding John’s hand the entire way back to Baker Street, despite John’s feeble protests. It wasn’t that John minded so much as he didn’t want the entire female population of London to think he was gay.

Then again, maybe he was a little gay, especially considering that he definitely hadn’t minded when Sherlock had absent-mindedly run his thumb over the back of John’s hand while they were sitting on the train, sending tingles up and down John’s spine. He also hadn’t minded when Sherlock had noticed John’s shivering on the walk back and had taken John’s hand in both of his to warm it up, lacing their fingers together and sending blood rushing not only to John’s hand, but to more discreet places as well.

He didn’t want to think about it too much.

Back in the apartment, John had changed into his pajamas and curled up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of hot tea. Sherlock took his tea as well, then hovered awkwardly by the couch for a moment as if trying to decide whether or not to sit down.

“Sherlock?”

“Can we -- cuddle?” Sherlock blurted out, then blushed down at his tea.

John hardly had the energy to be startled by any of the out-of-character things Sherlock had been saying today. He gave a resigned sigh instead. “Why, Sherlock?”

“That’s what people do, right?” Sherlock was fidgety, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “As a form of comfort and affection, they cuddle. I researched it on the web.”

It was all John could do to keep a straight face. Instead of laughing, he carefully set down his tea and lifted a corner of the blanket. “Whatever you want, Sherlock.” The man needed the comfort, for God’s sake, and John certainly wasn’t going to deny him that. That’s all it was, really. Doing a favor for a friend.

Sherlock took a careful seat next to the smaller man, his every move delicate and calculated. He wrapped one arm around John’s shoulders and pulled the blanket over his lap, their thighs barely grazing.

“That’s not really how you cuddle, Sherlock,” John pointed out, “You just have your arm around my shoulders.”

“Fine, then show me how,” Sherlock snapped.

“Lean back,” John commanded, pushing Sherlock down into the pillows and curling up against his chest. He let his fingers trail lightly over the bit of chest showing at the collar of Sherlock’s slightly-open shirt. Sherlock let his arm slide down to John’s waist, holding his closely. John could hear Sherlock’s heartbeat escalate, pumping out an uneven rhythm, and he couldn’t help but feel a strange joy in knowing he was responsible for another man’s nerves.

“What exactly did you mean,” Sherlock breathed, “When you said ‘whatever I want’?” John had lost track of how long they had been snuggled up for, the fire crackling in the hearth and a soft blanket pulled around both their shoulders. He was comfortable, probably more comfortable than he had been in a long time, and he was starting to feel a bit drowsy as well. Their legs were tangled together under the blanket, and John was suddenly aware of his thigh pressing into Sherlock’s groin.

“I meant it,” John replied sleepily, “I’ll do.. whatever.. you want. You know that, Sherlock, it’s how it’s always been. I think you need the comfort more than I do.”

Sherlock’s fingers trailed lazily up John’s arm to his shoulder, where it toyed with the collar of his shirt. John was feeling less sleepy by the second. “Does that apply to… you know… anything?”

John lifted his head to meet Sherlock’s eyes, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning at the detective’s sly gaze. He was flirting. Sherlock Holmes was flirting with him. “What would you like me to do, Sherlock?” he asked quietly.

Sherlock bit his lip anxiously. “Would you, um, kiss me?”

John was surprised by the forward-ness of Sherlock’s request, but was happy to oblige. He lifted himself up until he was hovering over Sherlock, their lips just inches apart. He could sense how nervous Sherlock was, feel his shallow breathing. He laced his fingers through Sherlock’s, trying to comfort him, let him know that he didn’t have to be scared. He lowered himself slowly, his mouth meeting Sherlock’s in a tentative kiss, their lips barely brushing together.

Sherlock smiled beneath him, and John couldn’t help but lean in to steal another one, this kiss far more passionate than the one before, their lips sliding together like puzzle pieces and their tongues darting out to explore each other’s mouths. John was a little breathless by the time Sherlock put a hand on his chest to stop him.

John backed off immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t--”

“It’s not that,” Sherlock said. “Have you been tested?”

John coughed. “What? Why?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’m taking preemptive measures. Isn’t that what one usually does before engaging in intercourse?”

“Inter-- what?”

“This is foreplay, John. I’ve seen enough of the world to know what that, at least, looks like. I would like to become more physical with you, John.”

John gave a nervous laugh. “Sherlock, I’ve never actually, um, done this… with a man.”

“But you kissed me.”

“Yes, but--”

“You feel attraction for me, John, whether or not you’ll let yourself admit it. You have for a long time now. I observe, John, remember?”

“Why do you keep saying my name?” John asked suddenly, “You’ve been saying it a lot.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, blinking up at John. “I - I like the way it sounds,” he answered quietly, _“John.”_ The last word was whispered, almost seductively, like a prayer.

“Fuck, Sherlock.” John bent down caught the man’s lips in his own once again. “And yes,” he breathed against the taller man’s mouth, “I have been tested. We’re in the clear.” He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s neck and sucked a bruise into his pale skin. Sherlock tilted his head back to allow John better access. John was surprised by how responsive Sherlock was. Then again, he was very _observant._

“Maybe we should move to the bedroom,” Sherlock suggested, “That is, I believe, where these matters usually take place?”

John gave a short laugh and placed one more kiss on the man’s lips before allowing himself to be dragged into the bedroom, the men both discarding their offending clothing in the hallway as they stumbled along, never letting their mouths part for an instant. By the time they fell on top of John’s bed in a passionate tangle of limbs and sheets, their boxer-briefs were the only clothes remaining.

John was breathless and dizzy, practically high from the feeling of kissing Sherlock. Wet, noisy, messy, teeth-clashing, tongues-sliding, perfect, beautiful kisses that he felt he could get drunk off of. Sherlock was making the most wonderful noises, low moans and whines in the back of his throat that turned John on beyond belief. There was visible tenting in both men’s underwear, and John was pleased to notice a small wet spot spreading on the front of Sherlock’s navy blue underpants.

Sherlock was leaning against the headboard, cushioned by an impressive array of pillows and blankets, and John straddled his lap, his hands eagerly exploring Sherlock’s shoulders and chest. Sherlock’s long-fingered hands were everywhere: on his neck, back, shoulders, ass. John let out a breathy moan as Sherlock’s lips travelled down his lawline to his neck, nipping at his collarbone.

“Jesus, Sherlock. I thought you said you hadn’t done this before.”

“I haven’t,” Sherlock replied, resting his forehead against John’s as both men panted. “I’m just going on instinct. Besides which, you also said that you didn’t know what to do, and yet you act as if you have years of experience.”

So it wasn’t strictly true that John didn’t know what he was doing. He may or may not have done a little research on the mechanics of man-on-man sex. He may or may not have spent hours poring over the safest ways to do it, the least painful ways, the ways that felt best. He may or may not have lists tucked away on his hard drive of the best types of condoms and lube to use, the ones that worked the best. And he may or may not have purchased a packet of condoms and one of those containers of lube and tucked them away under his pillow _just in case._

He reached under the pillow now, pulling out said bottle of lube and waving it in front of Sherlock’s wide eyes with a mischievous grin. “You ready?”

Sherlock swallowed. “What do I do?”

John leaned forward and placed a peck on the tip of Sherlock’s nose. “You close your eyes and tell me if it starts to feel bad.” He placed kisses along Sherlock’s collarbone, travelling down his chest to suck on his nipples, eliciting a tortured sound from the detective. It only took John a couple more seconds to remove the last of their clothing, leaving the men blissfully naked.

He uncapped the bottle and coated his fingers in the slippery substance, reaching down to press them against Sherlock’s opening. He massaged it gently, then slowly slipped in one finger, enjoying the increasingly loud moans he was earning from the taller man. When he thought Sherlock was ready, he slipped in a second finger, and then a third.

“John, for God’s sake,” Sherlock groaned, “Stop playing around, I’m ready. I want you.”

John wordlessly did as he was asked, grabbing a condom and taking a moment to slip it onto his leaking cock, a moment in which Sherlock grew increasingly more agitated. John leaned forward and kissed him roughly, sucking on Sherlock’s bottom lip as he lined the tip of his cock up with the taller man’s opening.

He pressed in slowly, letting out a moan as he did so. Sherlock was so hot, and so _tight_. He took a moment to enjoying the sight of the world’s only consulting detective spread out before him. The man looked utterly debauched, his skin flushing and sweat beading on his forehead. John thought he looked beautiful.

Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and yanked him down for another rough kiss. “Move,” he rasped, and John obeyed. He could feel every point of contact as he began to thrust, gently at first but gaining in power. He knew he wouldn’t last long, and judging by Sherlock’s loud gasps and moans, he wouldn’t either. He could feel the orgasm building in his gut, threatening to drive him over the edge at any second.

He ran one hand down to Sherlock’s cock, Sherlock giving a yelp as John wrapped his hand around the man’s arousal. He began to stroke in time to his thrusts. “I want to come with you,” he whispered in Sherlock’s ear, and he felt the detective shudder at his words. They were close, so damn close. He could feel himself on the edge, and he brought his mouth up for another messy kiss.

Sherlock’s hands reached down and grabbed John’s ass, and that was when John lost it. He shuddered violently and gave a shout as he came, Sherlock coming only a couple strokes later.

They fell onto the bedspread together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and utter happiness. John curled up against Sherlock’s chest again, and the taller man ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Thank you John,” he whispered, planting a kiss on John’s forehead.

John closed his eyes and buried his face in Sherlock’s neck. “You know I’m happy to do it,” he admitted, “Anytime, really. You know I --” No. He couldn’t say that.

“You what?”

John gave a sigh and heaved himself up to press his lips to Sherlock’s cheek. “I love you,” he whispered.

Sherlock grinned and grabbed John’s shoulders, flipping him onto his back and smothering him with a hot kiss. “I love you, too,” he said simply.

John relaxed into Sherlock’s touch and allowed himself to be kissed into oblivion.

~ * ~

John was up first the next morning. He left Sherlock asleep in their bed and ventured into the kitchen to prepare their morning tea, self-consciously wrapping himself in a bathrobe.

He heard a knock at the door and went to open it, wondering who could possibly be calling this early in the morning. “Oh good, you’re up!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

John looked at her in surprise. “Yes, I am. What’s going on?”

Mrs. Hudson leaned in conspiratorially. “I just have to know who Sherlock was with last night. I heard some very rude - very loud - noises coming from this apartment last night and I’m sure they were his.”

John smiled. “Oh yes, I do know who that was.” He shut the door without another word, leaving Mrs. Hudson utterly confused.

John returned to the bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Sherlock’s messier-than-usual hair. Sherlock’s eyes cracked fluttered open drowsily. “Hey John,” he slurred, smiling.

“Morning. I made you tea.”

Sherlock clutched John’s hand to keep him from leaving. “That was the best Valentine’s Day ever,” he cooed.

“Yes,” John replied, “It really was.”

It really had been the best Valentine’s Day ever.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, sweethearts! Let me know what you think in the comments :) I love you all and I hope you have the most wonderful Valentine's Day imaginable.


End file.
